ng there in such an agitated manner?" said
the musketeer.

"Hush!" said Porthos. "We are going off on a mission of great
importance," added the bishop.

"You are very fortunate," said the musketeer.

"Oh, dear me!" said Porthos, "I feel so wearied; I would far sooner have
been fast asleep. But the service of the king...."

"Have you seen M. Fouquet?" said Aramis to D'Artagnan.

"Yes; this very minute, in a carriage."

"What did he say to you?"

"'Adieu;' nothing more."

"Was that all?"

"What else do you think he could say? Am I worth anything now since you
have all got into such high favor?"

"Listen," said Aramis, embracing the musketeer; "your good times are
returning again. You will have no occasion to be jealous of any one."

"Ah! bah!"

"I predict that something will happen to you to-day which will increase
your importance more than ever."

"Really?"

"You know that I know all the news?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Come, Porthos, are you ready? Let us go."

"I am quite ready, Aramis."

"Let us embrace D'Artagnan first."

"Most certainly."

"But the horses?"

"Oh! there is no want of them here. Will you have mine?"

"No; Porthos has his own stud. So adieu! adieu!"

The two fugitives mounted their horses beneath the captain of the
musketeer's eyes, who held Porthos' stirrup for him, and gazed after
them until they were out of sight.

"On any other occasion," thought the Gascon, "I should say that those
gentlemen are making their escape; but in these days politics seem so
changed that that is what is termed going on a mission. I have no
objection; let me attend to my own affairs, that is quite enough;" and
he philosophically entered his apartments.

CHAPTER XCVI.

SHOWING HOW THE COUNTERSIGN WAS RESPECTED AT THE BASTILLE.

Fouquet tore along as fast as his horses could drag him. On the way he
trembled with horror at the idea of what had just been revealed to him.

"What must have been," he thought, "the youth of those extraordinary
men, who, even as age is stealing fast upon them, still are able to
conceive such plans and can carry them out without flinching?"

At one moment he could not resist the idea that all that Aramis had just
been recounting to him was nothing more than a dream, and whether the
fable itself was not the snare; so that when Fouquet arrived at the
Bastille, he might possibly find an order of arrest, which would send
him to join the dethroned king. Strongly impres